


Boots

by Liafail



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:04:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liafail/pseuds/Liafail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pale face torn with fear before a cold, long dead fireplace. A swirl of snow, or was it ash?  Caking dark lashes, spiked with tears.  A trembling press of lips tasting of salt and despair.  The smell of wet leather and cold stone and the ocean waves whipped white and dark and heaving.  These were the things he would always remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DYlogger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DYlogger/gifts), [the5leggedCricket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the5leggedCricket/gifts).



> There was a game. It involved a dare in chat, requiring a murder, and ruining a holiday. This was my reply. Beware.

The wind blew the ashes in swirling drifts, and the weather smelled of snow and smoke. It caught in his lungs, and his reddened eyes were dry, despite constantly blinking, occasionally using his gloves to wipe the ash from his lashes. 

He supposed he could have gone in after the screaming stopped. But. He didn't. 

Merlin had fled at the sound of the bells, and Arthur didn't bother to send someone after him. He couldn't let his father see. Couldn't react, couldn't cry, couldn't do anything but stand there with his boots leaden and his heart frozen and his tongue silent. 

Merlin's near hysteria at their pealing, over and over, didn't move him. Perhaps nothing ever would.

A hissing sound and a loud pop, and the pyre collapsed in on itself. Maybe another hour or two and it would be naught but embers.

Something cold and wet slid down his cheek. He looked up into the slate clouds and welcomed the freezing rain.

* * *

Arthur stalked the halls, each press of his foot against the stone an attack, a siege, a footfall-expressed roar of remorse and rage. His father treated him with all the consideration of a hunting hound. He could do whatever he wanted, as long as it was what the King ordered.

His father? Irrational. Driven to paranoia-led actions that resulted in death, death and more death. When had an entire realm of law led down to a single narrow pinpoint of state-sponsored murder?

The Witchfinder, he seethed, was a hammer who would only ever see nails. And his father was far too ready to welcome it with open arms.

The halls were silent, servants, lords, merchants, non would dare to tread where the Aredian or his most loyal ally, his very own father might cross paths.

Boots stilling before the old door, Arthur didn't bother to knock. He didn't before. He wouldn't. Now. 

Merlin started at the bang of the wood, the click of the iron handle. One arm flailed out from under the blanket, the ratty pile of them on Gaius' bed. 

"Oh, it's you." Merlin said flatly, from under the darker brown wool one. It covered his head like a cowl, and the words puffed white in the cold.

The fire was out.

Merlin had yet to light a fire. For the first week, Arthur even came down to light his servant's, but within moments, Merlin's hysteria was loud enough to be heard through the thick stone, and he eventually stopped.

"Move over," he ground out, and sat on the cot beside the speaking pile of blankets. "You'll freeze to death if you don't stop this."

"Better than burning." The rebuttal held no tease, only ice and distance.

Arthur ignored the pain. "I want you to come with me."

"We running away?" Merlin's voice held a tinge of surprise, hope.

"No."

"Then no." The blankets collapsed down as Merlin drew his knees up to his chest, his head to his knees.

"We're going to get out of the castle," he said solemnly.

A huff. "Oh. So you want me to help you murder more than just people?" His laugh was sardonic. "Thanks for thinking of me, but I'll pass."

He ran his hand through his hair. "And, if you stay, I doubt you'll be alive when I return." Merlin made no move to reply and the moments ticked on. "I... I'm worried about you." Arthur breathed it into the cold air of the room.

Bright eyes and dark hair, and a pale hand emerged from the blankets, blinking slowly at Arthur. "There has to be something you can do to stop this."

"Merlin," he choked. "I'm trying. Come with me, alright? Don't let me spend every day wondering if this was the one he accused you, and I wasn't... here to save you."

A moment passed, and then Merlin nodded, as if giving into the inevitable, and slowly unwound himself from the rest of the blankets, leaving just one around his shoulders like a cloak. Arthur started at the tattered rags wrapped around his servant's feet. "What happened to your feet?"

"Oh? Just. It's cold. " 

Arthur nodded, as if that made any sense. "And so you bandage them? Have you ever heard of socks?"

Merlin's pale cheeks flushed. "I... can't afford them right now. I spent.. I spent it all," he huffed and cupped his hands on his knees. "I tried, okay? It was more important than socks."

Arthur sighed deeply, and then puzzled over the mystery that was Merlin's mind. "Couldn't you have gone with I don't know, clean bandages?"

Merlin grimaced. "My boots are filled with holes Arthur. They are wet and dirty the moment I walk out the door."

Arthur's face twisted in distaste. "I see."

Merlin drawled. "See not much you mean."

Arthur's mind leapt at the opportunity to _do_ to _act_ to fix at least one thing in his young friend's life. He nudged his shoulder. "Get back under your blankets, idiot." 

Merlin's pale face closed down, and his mouth thinned. "When do we leave?"

Arthur's mind was already moving, planning. He stood and made for the door. "Three days." Spying Merlin's old boots near the door, he reached down and scooped them up.

"Hey, I need those," he spluttered, making to stand.

"Not for the next three days."

* * *

Finding a merchant to cater to the Prince's whims was once as simple as standing in the middle tier. They would flock to him, offering sweets, a cool drink, would he like to see the finest leather sewn into gloves, spices from over the small sea. 

That was then. Before he'd burned the man who healed their hurts, brought their children into the world.

Once he dismounted from his horse, the entire street near bolted. Doors slammed, stalls were abandoned, a mother slapped her hand over a crying babe and ran, leaving a clutch of carrots and a loaf of bread in the mud. 

Arthur's stomach dropped and he leaned against his horse for support. Madness. Madness everywhere. He looked up at the sign for the cobbler and rapped lightly against the door. When no answer came, he reached over and rang the bell. 

The door shivered, and the clasp clanked as a bar was lifted from the other side. It opened near a fingers width. "How. How, can'na help you your, highness." An old voice stammered out, the door shivering and the hinges creaking as if the man on the other side was using it to keep himself standing.

Arthur's heart slammed against his breastbone and his voice was filled with dust. "Just. New boots." he breathed out, not a hand span from where he was sure the old man's head leaned against the door, keeping it the careful fingers-width open. 

Arthur held up Merlin's old things, as if proof of his legitimacy. As if bringing along old boots would get a frightened old man to not think the man before him was there to accuse, to condemn, to burn, to.... Arthur's eyes pooled with tears.

Oh father, his heart cried with each beat. Oh father what have you done?

He could hear the old man's breath rattle, a heavy swallow, and the door opened. "Is it. Is it just you?"

"It's just me. You have..."

He wanted to say it. You have nothing to fear. But he was leaving in three days. Leaving to go find others to round up, others to put to death, others to sacrifice to the rabid hole in his father's heart, his head. The witchfinder only found sacrifices, any smart witch or warlock had left years and years ago.

"Come.. come in."

* * *

Merlin crept closer in the early morning dawn, a figure wrapped in blankets, pale and dark smudged, as if the blood in his body had been replaced with wine. His eyes were shot, red and bleeding, his fingers white against the saddle bags, the straps, fingers fiddling over and over, the same motion, as if he didn't know how to go forward. 

Arthur couldn't tell if he was saving him or leading to his death. 

The cobblestones were crusted in a fresh layer of snow, Merlin's feet gray and shapeless in their wrappings.

"Merlin." He barked over the hoofs and conversation. "Come here."

A sudden commotion to his left, and all conversation in the vicinity ceased. His head whipped in that direction, catching the dark cloaked form of his father striding across the cobbles.

Merlin, his blanket cloak clutched close, his pose bent and shivering, come closer to where Arthur surveyed the impending visitor from atop his mount.

"What now?" his heedless, thoughtless, mindless servant threw the question out, his father looking on, his father listening, his father knowing Merlin for a mindless, brainless,.... oh god, please, let him think him a magic-less fool.

"Take these." Instead of the gift he'd wanted, a gift given in silence, in courtesy, in respect, leading him before a warm fire or at least a warm room, unwrapping the rags, dragging his frozen hands close, feet close and chafing the life back into them. No, no this was all he had, a thrown pair of boots at a fool's feet. Oh father, just look away.

Arthur's heart beat too fast. Father, Just... let me save him. I can't save Camelot from you, but maybe...

Merlin stood still, a scarecrow in the dawn's light. He shivered, and his eyes went everywhere but to his prince. "And what is this?" he coughed and sounded dazed.

"Boots." Merlin reached down to pet them, to touch them, as if they were not real.

"And... why... why boots?" Merlin's brow was creased and the red and black of his eyes looked like blood and raven feathers and mourning.

Arthur chanced to look up, his father's face before him. His voice changed to steel to protect, to defend, to shield. "Boots worth more than you, servant. But at least this way you will keep up."

Merlin choked and flinched, hands tangled in Arthur's mount's reigns. "But enough of this delay, put them on, we're to leave before sunrise."

"Yes, yes'm .... yes sire. I promise to keep up." 

And Arthur felt the words that shattered his bones, rent his flesh, and his father nodded his approval and raised his hand in greeting.

Arthur turned to give him his attention, but never listened to a word that came from his majesty's mouth.

* * *

The first village. A woman's voice, a book with strange markings. Screams of songs and lute strings. He shoved it away. Nothing could touch him.

Not the second village. The woman with a bastard child, hair of gold, eyes of green, and the villagers gleefully tearing apart the books, French, Latin, Greek, while her pale hair caught fire and the little boy shrieked as the smell of his mothers flesh filled the air.

Oh father. Oh what have you done?

The ashes fell for three days, the half dozen corpses flesh, fat and bone taking that long to render to something the human body couldn't smell.

The boy lost all his fingers to scrabbling in the ashes for what remained of his mother.

* * *

"A copper penny?" the small voice called out in cheer and hope as they crossed the courtyard into the west most bailey, the keep pressed right against the ocean. The boy was bold, pressing a small hand to his horse. Oh. It was time for the Calennig.

It was new year's day. The reminder of the joyous new year's holiday had Arthur reeling. He remembered. Innocence. Joy. Hope for the new year. Last year he'd laughed with Merlin. It had held so much promise.

When he was but a child, no higher than his knee, his nurse would shepherd him from hour to house, a cup of water, a sprig or evergreen. He would be clapped as he used the twigs to splash water at people, at cattle, at doorsteps, and in return, they showered him with copper coins.

This was the Camelot he held dear to his heart, this is what he dreamed of in the darkness.

And last winter. Last new years day....

His heart seized in memory. Gaius had laughed at him when he'd brought Merlin down to bed. He'd had a few glasses, he'd been pushed a few glasses, giggly and glassy and uncaring, and too few bites of food to balance the drink, and Merlin had swayed dangerously where stairs were involved.

Gaius' grin was infectious, and after dumping Merlin into his too small cot, the physician had clasped Arthur's hand, something cold pressing into his palm.

A copper coin. 

Arthur hadn't gone asking since he was still in his first teeth. 

"In memory of better times." Gaius had spoken. Arthur had grinned at him, "and better times to come."

Arthur blinked back tears. All memories of Gaius would be filled with pained eyes, rimed in ash. And the sound of bells. The taste of apples and cloves.

* * *

Sitting alone, watching everyone else enjoy, lost in his thoughts. He wonders where Merlin was. Wonders if Merlin ever went asking.

Like they'd let a bastard...

God help him.

He'd taken everything from him. The only family he had. Taken warmth and love and given what?

Orders and boots. Ordered him to burn the only friend his father had, the only love in both their lives. He'd never known just what Gaius had given him until he was gone. Uther was a cold substitute, a pale imitation of the man. 

Deep, down in his heart, tears pooling at the edge of too hot eyes, he realized that no one should have burnt. No one should ever have burnt. And that it was his fault. All his fault.

Uther blamed magic for his mother's death. If only he'd blamed him, him who .... killed since his birth, none of this would have ever happened.

A dead babe, or a burned village, encampment, lover, mother, physician? 

Arthur heaved what little food he'd eaten into the bushes.

* * *

In fear, Arthur went to search for Merlin, and found him teary eyed and solemn on the battlements. He shouted at him in his swirling mass of guilt and self recrimination, reminded him he's getting his boots wet with sea spray. Boots. The one gods-damned thing he'd ever done right. The storm raged, and the sparks blew from the braziers as the wind howled.

Merlin looks sad and wistful, and then a small smile flitted across his features. Elfin, fae, mad. "Close your eyes Arthur. Close your eyes and feel it."

He huffed, discontented and cold, the feel of his armor, the weight of his soon to be sodden cloak. "I am doing no such thing."

"Yes, you are. "

"And why, pray tell am I standing here in this miserable weather, when I have a fire and food in my chambers?"

Merlin let out a bark of a laugh. "No, you don't."

"And why don't I?"

Merlin snorted, "because I was up here. Upset."

Arthur raised a brow and drew closer, some small voice warning him to pay attention to Merlin's erratic behavior. With Gaius gone, Arthur was all he had. Arthur didn't save him, caused all of this. 

Merlin leaned in till his breath misted ghostly, mixing with Arthur's. "Close your eyes, Arthur. Just... listen."

Arthur reached out and clasped his upper arm, yanking him close. "We're leaving," he ground out. "Enough of this."

"No. " Merlin's voice lashed at him, clear through the rolling thunder and the roar of the waves. "I am not following. Not ever again."

Arthur stopped, and turned back, a shiver riding up his spine. "What is it Merlin?"

"That's," he his voice cracked, "that's what I've been trying to tell you."

Arthur sighed, Merlin was simply incomprehensible. "And you want me to close my eyes. Why?"

"Because I asked." His voice was small and fragile, yet strangely clear above the storm.

He closed his eyes, "Well, get on with it then."

Merlin sucked in a hissed breath, as if stabbed. "I should... get on with it?"

"Yes." Arthur shivered and thought to the warm wine and the possible pastries. "Whatever you have to say isn't worth me getting frozen."

"You. You're right. You're right. I'm... just getting you cold aren't I? You just want to go..." his voice choked. "Warm yourself before a blazing fire."

Arthur snorted, "exactly. So what the hell do you want?"

"Just. You're right." He deflated. "I won't keep you in the rain, just... give me this..."

"what?" he growled and shook his head as a cold spill of water traced his spine, sending a horrid shivering sensation into his very bones.

"this." Arthur could feel him take a step closer, and to his surprise, cold lips touch the end of his mouth, slid softly, tentatively, frozen nose bumping against his cheek.

Arthur's mind ground to a halt. His eyes flashed open and a stray loud bolt of lightening lit Merlin's face in stark black and white, gaunt and wild eyed, red rimmed and bloodshot, and darkness where the rain has soaked his hair. His eyes gleamed eerie in the light and he looked as if they were lit from within, containing the lightning and not reflecting it.

His visage twisted into terror and panic. "Close your eyes" he hissed. "Please, for me. Please. I just can't... I can't anymore."

"Easy, let's just be done with this, alright? "

"Keep your eyes closed!" he hissed, somewhere between despair and pleading.

Arthur shook off the eerie feeling in his bones and reacted to the despair in his friend's voice in the only way he knew how. "Merlin. I command you to get inside." In the resulting silence he tried to soften it, "for your boots at least."

A rumble of thunder and the wind picked up. A soft voice replied, farther away, as if he'd turned to look at the sea. " You're right. Can't have anything happen to the boots."

"They _are_ worth more than you."

"Yes, yes they are." He could hear Merlin choke. Just one more minute. Just... 

"Merlin, Merlin, be done with this. It's freezing up here. You just keep dragging it out. haven't you said everything that needs to be said?" 

A hissed intake of breath and an odd keen caught the wind. He could hear Merlin unbuckling his boots. 

Arthur threw up his hands, and stalked back towards the half wall the protected the door. "Enough with this, I'm going in. " 

He turned back and snarled in Merlin's direction. At a loss of how to express his anger, he narrowed his focus. "And you're not going to bed with sea water on that leather, you have no idea what I had to do to get you those." He wretched open the door and filed Merlin under the listing in his head of "yet another thing to deal with when they get get back home." 

He took a moment to shake out his hair and cloak, and waited in the strange silence, the sound of the storm muffled through the heavy oak. He took off his gloves and tucked them in his belt. 

First one moment then two, and he sighed deeply, pulling open the door with much less force than he entered. He took deep lungfuls of air and tried to tamp down his anger. For a moment he stood, confused at the sudden rush of light from the setting sun, head tilted up at the sky. 

The rain had suddenly stopped. The clouds rapidly thinned, as if whatever part they needed to play was over, and they drifted off in feathery violets in the orange and gold glow. Shielding his eyes with a gloved hand, he walked around the half way and back out to the rampart. 

Not seeing Merlin, he stalked around the curve of the tower, and tripped over the something in the long shadows. Unable to catch himself, he fell hard on his hands and knees, the sound of the armor clattering with a crash that echoed loud. A seabird cawed down at him, and he rolled on his side and then up to his knees, patting around the flagstones for what he tripped over. 

Soft leather, wet leather. It was Merlin's boots. 

Arthur blinked, and a stray bit of rain splashed his face. "Merlin?" he called out softly. The sound of his armor crashing on the stone was like to bring him running. 

He sat against the wall, holding up one boot, taking his hand and dashing off the pooling water. He took the time to fasten the buckles, waiting for Merlin to run to him. 

His breath sounded loud. Surely Merlin could hear that. Just a moment more and he'd be right here. His chest clenched tight and it hurt to breathe. The ice from his bones returned to wash over him, settling in a dark and rimed ball of lead in his stomach. 

"Merlin?" He cried out in the softest of whispers, and stood, his hands grasping one boot, knuckles white and pained, nails digging deep into the soft wet finish. 

Trembling, the sound of his mail clinking like glass against his plate, he stood and wrapped one hand around the stone parapet. It took three swallows before he could find the strength within himself to look down at the waves and the rocks. 

The storm had retreated into the sunset freakishly quickly, but the sea seemed to take longer to placate. The foam sprayed high against the rocks, pale violet and green in the deepening edge of sunset and twilight. 

The splash of blue, and deep purple flickered, as something heavy was bombarded by the waves. Back to the rocks, out to the sea, against the rock and out to the sea, he stared at the strange colors, mesmerized, white and blue and purple that the sea toyed with in the twilight. 

His legs betrayed him and he went down on his knees. Leaning back, he lost sight of the sea, hands splayed to catch himself as he let himself fall boneless to the battlements floor. 

The smell of the sea, wet stone, and wet leather seared itself to his memory. A gust of wind surged cruel and cold and the brazier toppled, sparks flying and smoke filling his lungs. The ring of the metal on the stones echoed loud and Arthur shivered, eyes hot and lost and burning. 

Boots and orders. 

Arthur lost track of the time he sat there, and it was Leon who found him huddled in the shadows, his cloak in his hands, rubbing Merlin's boots dry, rubbing them till the polish came off, rubbing them until the blood on his hands was gone. Rubbing them until the feet that owned them came back to find him. So he could give one last order. 

The wind blew the waves in swirling drifts, and the weather smelled of salt and smoke. 


End file.
